


T-Minus

by Umbrella_ella



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-05
Updated: 2014-08-13
Packaged: 2018-02-11 22:28:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2085528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Umbrella_ella/pseuds/Umbrella_ella
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which a mission goes wrong and May and Coulson wait for extraction. Though it’s never as easy as that, of course.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 24 Hours To Extraction

**Author's Note:**

> First chapter length story for Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. Most of my other works can be found on my blog, http://a-tardis-at-downton.tumblr.com/

She should have known better, trusted her gut— and now here they were, fighting Hydra off, two against too many. The bunker had been abandoned when S.H.I.E.L.D. went off the grid, and by all indications, it was still abandoned, but now, hunkered down behind an overturned filing cabinet, watching as Phil fired rounds into the oncoming mass of Hydra operatives, it was obvious that it was definitely _not_ abandoned.

“Coulson, we have to go!” Melinda shouted over the din of the gunfire. She watched, her heart in her throat as a bullet pinged too close to his head as he looked over at her. With a nod, he fired two more rounds, dropping two of the closest men to the floor and ran for her. As soon as his back was against the cool metal of the filing cabinet, he leaned into her.

“We need to get out— option one, that door,” he gestured to the door on the far right, the one blocked by at least five Hydra agents, “We don’t have another option.”

Melinda groaned, “Of course we don’t. You know, I thought I was going to be flying the BUS. That’s what you told me.”

“Yeah, well, you got more than you bargained for, sorry,” he tossed back at her, firing a few more rounds at the enemy. “Not like I planned this, you know. On my count…”

She would kill him when they got out of here.

“Three, two… one! Go!” Phil shouted, wheeling out into the open space between the wall where they had been pinned and the Hydra agents, firing indiscriminately. Melinda ran for it, rushing past him and quickly dispatching the remaining two agents by the door as Phil dove for the briefcase they needed.

Melinda was halfway out of the door when a cry rang out, sharper than heard in a long time, a cry of pain, and her stomach dropped. Phil was clutching his thigh with one hand, the briefcase with the other, and he was inching towards the door, his glock abandoned on the floor.

 _Shit._  Running back into the fray, where Phil had managed to get on the floor and take cover behind the computer console, Melinda grabbed the lapel of his jacket and yanked him towards the door, running pell-mell down the long, concrete corridor and bursting out into the darkness.

 _Forest. Okay. If there’s a forest, there’s a cave somewhere, right?_ Phil was slumped towards her, putting the majority of his weight on her, but she didn’t mind that. Right now, a safe place was priority.

* * *

Melinda May found that, in her years as a specialist, she hated forests— she’d been in her fair share, of course, but there were hardly any indicators of the direction she should be going. Of course, they shouldn’t even be out here, really. The two of them were going to spend the night in the bunker, and the next day, go through vital files that S.H.I.E.L.D. could utilize against Hydra and hopefully find something worthwhile— the briefcase was the most important thing. It held all of the vital files they had found so far, but there had been so much more information to go through. Coulson had gone because he needed to be there, needed to determine what would be useful and what would not. Being stuck in the middle of the Appalachian Mountains for two days sifting through data files wasn’t her idea of a fun time, but Phil had asked her to go with him, citing that he needed to “ _extend the olive branch_ ”, but so far as she was concerned, she’d forgiven him a long time ago, the first time he’d smiled his crooked smile at her, her first morning back, at the Playground, when he’d been waiting for her, mats already laid out. “ _Like the old days_?”, he’d pleaded, and she was hard pressed to say no.

But now, as they stumbled through the forest blindly, barely missing a few low hanging branches, Melinda wondered if he had forgiven himself. Phil was a passionate man, and when he felt something, he felt it wholly, so when he felt badly, he let it consume him, keep him up at night, and darken his mood.

They’d had a great many midnight discussions about this facet of himself, and she always managed to pull him out his own head, somehow.

“I’m sorry. I’m fine, though— I can walk, it’s just a graze.” Phil broke the silence around them first, and the forest seemed so much smaller suddenly.

Melinda let go then, watching with her limited sight, stunted by the darkness folding in around, as Phil hobbled to the nearest tree, slumping to the ground, twigs and pine needles crunching beneath him as he groaned.

“Can we… stop here for the night? I think we’re far enough. I don’t hear anyone behind us anymore.”

Melinda acquiesced, dropping down next to him.

“It gets cold sometimes, especially this time of year,” Phil spoke, “Do we have any supplies?”

“Just this,” May reached around, unclipping her pack from her waist and tossing it to the ground. “It has a small med kit, a protein bar, a flashlight, and…” she took her glock out of it’s holster, “ we have this.”

Phil laughed a little, pressing his head back into the bark of the tree.

“We’ve been in tighter spots before.”

“Not with a briefcase full of highly sensitive intel and half of Hydra on our asses.” Melinda retorted, opening the small pack and grabbing the flashlight. “And not with you shot.”

“You’re forgetting Morocco, Agent May. But it does hurt more than I remember.” Phil grinned in the dim light of the flashlight, and Melinda felt the corners of her lips pull up.

“I never forget anything, Phil,” She moved to check his wound, but Phil stopped her, taking her hand in his, and she gave his fingers a squeeze before letting go, “Including how you try to distract me from giving you medical attention.”

He went quiet, and Melinda peeled back the fabric of his pants, ripping them a bit to gain better access to his wound.

“Well, you know, once you’ve been stabbed through the heart by a demi-god’s scepter, I really think that bullets are just sort of letdown.” Phil laughed breathlessly, his words hitching when Melinda’s fingers probed too close to his wound.

She couldn’t see very well, so she held the flashlight in her teeth as she pressed closer to the ground. Her curse was muffled by the tool.

A gaping hole had ripped into his outer thigh, blood staining the skin around it liberally and leaking through his slacks.

_Shit._


	2. 23 Hours To Extraction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently Melinda swears a lot in her head. Oops. Let's face it, if any of us were in this situation, I doubt we'd be courteous and careful with our swear words.

Surgery in the field 101: Four steps.

Okay. She could do that. Right?

Deep breath. _Step one, assess the wound._

Moving to the space between his legs was easy— he was sitting spread-eagle, his legs splayed far apart where he had fallen, and Melinda took her knife to the other side of his slacks. The white of his boxers peeked through the slit in his pants, and she lifted the thin cotton to see if there had been an exit wound.

_Shit_.

Melinda sucked in a breath. One more thing to worry about on top of the million and one things she was already worried about.

_Step two, apply pressure to the wound._

Melinda ripped a strip of cloth from her tank top. It was her best bet, and they were nowhere near water. Pressing her hand against the entrance and exit wounds was no doubt painful, and if Phil’s groans were anything to by, it was.

_Step three, sterilize your equipment and the area surrounding the wound._

Melinda looked around at the ground, her pack laying open, and its contents strewn across the lumpy ground. Small med pack, there it was. Snatching it up, Melinda fumbled with the clasp on the small box and when it finally opened, she gave a small prayer of thanks. Band-aids, a miniscule roll of gauze, and a small pair of tweezers came tumbling out. A couple of alcohol swabs were there, and she grabbed them.

Phil’s face was grey, paling by the second, and the blood wasn’t stopping yet. _Hang on, Phil._

Ignoring the way her hands trembled as she opened the packet, Melinda pressed the swab to his wounds, dabbing at the surrounding flesh before his half-screams stopped her. Reaching out, she grasped Phil’s right hand in her free hand, rubbing soothing circles on the back of his hand as his fingers closed around hers.

“Hold on to me Phil, you have to hold on— do you remember where we are?” Melinda asked. She needed to check if he was experiencing any disorientation.

“Forest,” He ground out through his teeth, slamming his head back into the tree when the swab came too close to the wound. “Taiwan.”

“No, we’re in the Appalachian Mountains, Phil,” she corrected gently, her heart in her throat, “Do you remember why we’re here?”

“F-Files… Briefcase.” Phil grunted, his left hand twisting the fabric of his shirt.

“Okay, good. Hey, I haven’t heard how you met Captain America yet, why don’t you tell me?” Melinda prompted as her free hand fumbled for the tweezers. Her hands were slick with blood and she fumbled for a moment.

_A moment was too long._

Of course, she’d heard the story a dozen times, but she would listen to Phil sing It’s A Small World on repeat if it meant he would stay awake.

“Helicarrier. We were on the jet over. AH!” Melinda winced as she laid on the ground, jostling him slightly as she tried to get a clearer view, the flashlight on the ground beneath her. His hand tightened on hers and she rubbed his knuckles reassuringly.

“And…?” She prompted.

“And I said something stupid about meeting him and about the costume and about the ice and I— I’m so stupid. I… can’t… believe he was that nice… I’m not… an easy person to like…”

Melinda almost laughed. “Liar. You’re not stupid and you’re very easy to like, Phil.”

Phil snorted at that. His next words were quiet, more subdued.

“I talk too much, you said.”

“Maybe you do, but right now, you should keep talking.”

Melinda had to be careful. In an ideal world, she’d have an operating theater. In an ideal world, they wouldn’t be stranded a mile away from Hydra forces. In an ideal world, she wouldn’t be trying to stop Phil Coulson from bleeding out.

_Sonofabitch._ The bullet was a prefrag.

_Fuck_.

Melinda May’s day just went from bad to infinitely worse.

“I don’t hear you talking, Phil.”

“That’s ‘cause I’m sleeping,” he mumbled. His eyes were closed and his face was even whiter than she remembered.

“Don’t sleep. Now’s not the time.”

“I’m tired. And cold.” He replied, his voice slurred and his head bobbing forward towards his chest.

“C’mon, you must have something to talk about. How did we first meet? You remember?” She watched as his brows furrowed a bit.

“Yeah, sure… I remember… Academy. Sparring… You were hot. Still are.”

Melinda focused on the task ahead, but she couldn’t help the bark of laughter that bubbled up from her throat.

Letting go of his hand, she pretended to ignore Phil’s whine of frustration at the lack of contact.

“Oh? And what year were we in?” she asked, probing the tweezers around and pulling out what few fragments she could.

“Our second year. You… kicked my ass. But I kept… practicing with you… because… I thought that if… anyone could kick my ass, I wanted it to be you…”

That was the best she could do for now.

She let the tweezers fall to the ground as she grabbed the thin gauze, unfurling it from the neat roll. Wrapping his leg was trickier than she expected it to be, and the fact that Phil could barely lift his leg without sweating profusely was not helping matters.

After she wrapped his leg the best she could, Melinda focused on wiping the blood from her hands, but to her dismay, a dirty tank top— which she had now abandoned— and the second alcohol swab didn’t go far. Her hands were still pink, beneath her nails, blood is crusted, deep red— it made her stomach turn— and she growled in frustration.

The last thing she wanted was Phil’s blood on her hands.

She couldn’t lose him— not again. She watched as he dozed against a tree, and she made her decision.

She would not let him die here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blanket disclaimer: I don't know jack about medical anything, much less treating wounds in the middle of a forest. So, any errors you see are the result of my inexperience with gunshot wounds and treating them. Also, any information about prefragmented bullets you see was gleaned from Google. If you want to see what one does, I recommend YouTube. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this.


End file.
